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Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.

Luke 23:34, King James Bible

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Beauty is truth, truth beauty

Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats (1795-1821)

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On a wednesday night in the Hungarian Cafe, New York City. by Gregory Muenzen

[i-like-my-books]

“Any book worth banning is a book worth reading.”

 Issac Asimov (via thesecretbooksociety)

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»40 love« by roger mcgough

[via]

[i-like-my-books]

Be an artist of consciousness. Your picture of reality is your most important creation. Make it powerfully profoundly beautiful.

Alex Grey (via mirkokosmos)

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The only means of strengthening one’s intellect is to make up one’s mind about nothing; to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.

John Keats, Letters to George and Georgiana, 1819 (via stardust-seedling)

[i-like-my-books]

~Boundless~

From the depth of the ocean To the limitless sky Open a book, open your mind This world is boundless So let your imagination fly

—–

Happy almost Thanksgiving, everyone!

I grew up in a small apartment in China and was raised by my grandparents. When I’m not studying or doing homework, I would go into the office/storage room where all the books are kept and flip through all the books about animals. The photos and illustrations of all the different species always fascinated me and inspired me to learn, understand, and draw the world around me. It gave me a glimpse beyond the rundown apartments and the grey skies of China that I grew up in. Even though the storage room was no bigger than a bathroom, with those books, the walls opened up and the world became boundless.  

Full view of the drawing on my website http://www.yuumeiart.com/illustrations#/boundless/

[i-like-my-books]

BIBLIOPOESY

[noun]

the making of books.

Etymology: from Greek biblion, “book” + poeisis, “production, composition”.

[Xinmei Liu - Book Cave]

[i-like-my-books]

[i-like-my-books]

[i-like-my-books]

Things to do. Take a day to clear your mind and energy. Spend time with yourself. 

[i-like-my-books]

Tolstoy is such a moving writer. This is from War and Peace. We’re more beautiful than we think.

”She’s flattering me,” thought the princess as she turned back to read on. But Julie was not flattering her friend; her eyes were large, deep and radiant (sometimes a warm light seemed to pour out of them), really so winsome that very often, in spite of the plainness of the face as a whole, her eyes held a greater appeal than mere beauty. But the princess had never seen the beautiful expression in her own eyes, an expression they assumed only when she wasn’t thinking about herself. Like everyone else’s, her face took on a strained, artificial and disagreeable expression the moment she looked at herself in the mirror.

[i-like-my-books]

An amazing and eerie depiction of fantasy from the master of horror, H.P. Lovecraft. From the story The White Ship.

[...] and the bearded man said to me: ”This is Thalarion, the City of a Thousand Wonders, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom.” And I looked again, at closer range, and saw that the city was greater than any city I had known or dreamed of before. Into the sky the spires of its temples reached, so that no man might behold their peaks; and far back beyond the horizon stretched the grim, grey walls, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. I yearned mightily to enter this fascinating yet repellent city, and besought the bearded man to land me at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying: ”Into Thalarion, the City of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are no longer men, and the streets are white with the unburied bones of those who have looked upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the city.”

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Aldous Huxley, the famous 20th century intellectual, under the effect of mescaline asking: who do we all think we are? From The Doors of Perception.

At this stage of the proceedings I was handed a large coloured reproduction of the well-known self portrait by Cézanne – the head and shoulders of a man in a large straw hat, red-cheeked, red-lipped, with rich black whiskers and a dark unfriendly eye. It is a magnificent painting; but it was not as a painting that I now saw it. For the head promptly took on a third dimension and came to life as a small goblin-like man looking out through a window in the page before me. I started to laugh. And when they asked me why, ”What pretensions!” I kept repeating. ”Who on earth does he think he is?” The question was not addressed to Cézanne in particular, but to the human species at large. Who did they all think they were?

[i-like-my-books]

A delightful sex scene from Orwell’s 1984

The youthful body was strained against his own, the mass of dark hair was against his face, and yes! Actually she had turned her face up and he was kissing the wide red mouth. She had clasped her arms about his neck, she was calling him darling, precious one, loved one. He had pulled her down on to the ground, she was utterly unresisting, he could do what he liked with her. But the truth was that he had no physical sensation, except that of mere contact. All he felt was incredulity and pride. He was glad that this was happening, but he had no physical desire. It was too soon